Jolan'tru: A collection
by NaginiFay
Summary: First Chapter: Vorik tells a Ghost Story. Neelix has roped Vorik into giving a presentation on his home province's version of Halloween, and B'Elanna has dared him to do a good job. Vorik's presentation hits a little close too home for his least favorite member of the Voyager crew- Ensign Trumari, the Romulan.


A/N: This is the first one-shot in what I hope will eventually be a collection of outtakes from my VorikxOC story, _Jolan'tru: A Romulan in the Delta Quadrant_. I imagine this taking place a few months before the episode _Blood Fever._ For anyone unwilling to read my main story and thus requiring an explanation of the premise of this story: Trumari is a Romulan Starfleet officer with a crush on Vorik. Vorik is the Vulcan engineer who 'fell in love' with B'Elanna Torres. He can't stand Trumari. You don't really need to know anything more than that to fully enjoy this aside.

* * *

Halloween was coming to Voyager. Neelix, the ship's morale officer, had somehow gotten wind of the upcoming 'spooky' fall holiday and, much to Vorik's particular chagrin, taken it and run with it. Not only had he researched Halloween in its more modern forms as well as ancient, but he'd researched all similar holidays in every culture represented on the ship, and organized an event centered around them.

Vorik wasn't sure just how Neelix had acquired the authority to order him to create a presentation on the obscure local holiday he'd participated in as a child, but taking his protest to the chain of command had only resulted in a reiteration of the order. Unfortunately, Vorik was the only Vulcan available who came from the requisite region, Tuvok being from another continent and culture entirely. There would be no reassigning of the duty to someone else. He fervently pondered how best to present the information without appearing foolish.

He was far too logical to believe in vengeful disembodied katras requiring yearly appeasement, cursed House citadels, or mysteriously vanished offerings to the dead and their House gods. He said as much to B'Elanna as they went over a particularly lengthy set of shift reports.

"Well, of course you don't believe in it. Nobody does." B'Elanna paused. "Except for maybe Trumari. I overheard her asking Tom if she should demonstrate a ritual blood offering for summoning an ancestor."

Vorik raised an eyebrow. "Yeeahh, I'm pretty sure she _was_ serious. Tom advised against it."

"Indeed."

"Well, maybe approaching it from the skeptic's point of view is the best for you? What's the history of celebrating the holiday? Are there any actual historical events associated with it? What's the purpose of the different traditions?" B'Elanna took a long drink of coffee. "I mean, it's not like you can be expected to dress up or anything and tell a ghost story."

"Dress up?"

"You know, like a costume. It's not anything like trick or treating, is it."

"Trick or treating?" Vorik was astonished to discover from B'Elanna's account that there were in fact some similarities to the Rite of Appeasement and "trick or treating" though in the case of his culture, the ghosts got the treats, and supposedly, performed the tricks, while all the children got was scared into hysteria. And possibly wet pants. He told her as much, excluding the part about the pants. She thought it was "hilarious".

"Well, maybe you should just go for it Vorik."

"Go for it?" Go for what?

"You know, put on the costume,"

"Disguise," he corrected, she rolled her eyes.

"Tell the ghost story,"

"Legend" he corrected again,

"Talk about doing the whole thing growing up, what it means to you now. If you do it right, it should be a big hit."

"Bit hit?"

"Success. People will like it. Assuming you're not chicken, of course. That means…"

He cut her off. "I know what it means."

* * *

A few days later...

"Why am I doing this again?" Vorik muttered to himself as he adjusted his mask in front of the mirror in the temporary dressing room set up in a corner of the mess hall.

"Because the Boss you've got the hots for dared you to." Joe Carey supplied in a whisper as he glued ludicrous fake pointed ears to his own as the finishing touch on his 'Dracula' costume. Dracula was evidently some sort of demonic entity of Terran origin.

"I do not 'have the hots' for B'Elanna," Vorik protested.

"Yeah?" the other man grinned at him, displaying disturbing false dentition as well, "Prove it."

"If I 'had the hots' for B'Elanna," Vorik reasoned, "Tom Paris would be dead." Joe laughed, obviously thinking Vorik was joking. He wasn't.

Possibly, if he hadn't been consumed with remembering his own presentation, Joe's might have supplied further information about the "Dracula" creature. He could always look it up later.

He took a deep breath, centered himself, activated the viewscreen and began his presentation by throwing a small flash bang smoke grenade onto the stage area. By the time everyone's vision had cleared, Vorik had "magically appeared" on the stage in his disguise.

Harry Kim leaned over to whisper in Jenny Delaney's ear, distracting him. "There has to have been something weird in that punch Neelix made, because I could swear I can see a Vulcan wearing a green ninja costume up there." Next to Harry, on his other side, Trumari gasped and began shaking with suppressed laughter. Vorik cleared his throat again to cue her into silence.

"For a thousand years before the Time of Awakening and the Teachings of Surak, a Noble House of thieves, assasins, warmongers, death worshippers, and most notably _poisoners_ held bloody sway over the eastern coast of the Green Sands Sea. It is said the Sea itself derived its name from the blood soaked sand found under the victims that washed ashore with each tide." Vorik intoned, as an animated green wave dumped a body on the holographic shore onscreen.

"That's disgusting!" Jenny whispered. She almost sounded gleeful. Vorik would never understand why humans liked this kind of thing.

"The House's stronghold, a small fortress against a hill overlooking the largest estuary, effectively controlled the only source of fresh water for the area's inhabitants. Numerous attempts were made to lay siege to the fortress and over throw the oppressors, but each time, the House simply released poison into the water supply and waited for their opponents to drop dead."

A castle appeared on screen, with a stream flowing out its gate, and small, still figures lying where they'd fallen after drinking from the stream.

"Each year, the House demanded tribute in exchange for not poisoning the water as a matter of course. This was paid on the day holy to the House's darkest god, one which required both treasure, and lives, as tribute."

The scene on the screen changed again, this time a long line of figures, dressed in two distinct fashions, would their way up the stream to the castle gates.

"Those who had either been chosen to die for some transgression by their neighbors, or selected at random by lot to fill the quota dressed themselves in their own burial clothes to attend their Masters on Tribute Day. Their cherished friends and family wore funeral attire."

"It's a pretty good ghost story so far," Harry remarked to Trumari. She nodded, face pensive. Vorik stopped listening and concentrated on his delivery.

* * *

"Of course, his delivery is killing it just a little bit, and not the good way." Harry added. Trumari shrugged.

"In the Time of Awakening, the House began to lose its grip on the minds and hearts of the people. Surak's teachings of peace and logic left no fear in the heart, and no doubt in the mind. The House would be overthrown, and if they died doing it," Vorik lifted and dropped a shoulder, "the needs of the future many outweigh the needs of the present few."

Tuvok nodded appreciatively across the aisle. Vorik spread his hands. "An attack was planned, to take place on the next Tribute Day. The participants armed themselves and prepared for a more meaningful sacrifice of life. As the processional approached the citadel, the House was strangely quiet. The people reached the gates, and found them unguarded, and ajar. Wary of some trick, a handful of volunteers entered the courtyard. It was empty. Finally, the full forces arrayed for the attack rushed in every entrance to the House, determined to conquer the blood thirsty overlords they were certain lay in wait for them. But, when they entered and found their Masters…" Vorik paused, whether for breath or dramatic effect, Harry wasn't sure, "they were already dead."

Harry started to clap but stopped, embarrassed, under Vorik's masked, but still intimidating disapproval. Apparently, he wasn't finished yet. "All lay where they had fallen dead, mouths foaming, throats cut, or necks broken. More than two hundred House members were dead by violence, from kitchen maids to the House Matriarch on her throne in the Great Hall." This time the viewscreen switched to what appeared to be genuine photographs of a very real castle full of very real dead bodies. The details were blurred, either from poor quality, age, or the desire to protect them from the more graphic details.

"A count was made of the corpses, and the people noted two particularly disquieting details. First, that there was not a single child or youth among the dead, and second, that the total number of the dead fell at least fifty percent below the known number of the House members." Harry rolled his eyes at the statistic. Vorik should have just said that half the villains were missing. Trumari beside him giggled, a half hysterical sound. _What's up with her?_

The final image, clearly a modern holo-image, was sharp, and rotated slowly. Green paint was scrawled all over the walls of the room shown. "This message was found painted on the walls of the Great Hall, and remains there to this day. I will read it as it is typically rendered into Standard." Vorik paused and swallowed, then continued, sounding slightly hoarse.

"The Poison House now cursed, doth flee

Into Death, and to the Heavens

Our own blood spilled for all of thine

Cursed we are and born cursed will be

Til the Reaper's daughter is all that's left

And all leave her sore bereft

Bring shining tribute in as in former days

Lest we then resume our fearsome rule

Keep this House against our Return

Or else all the worlds will burn

Let this curse so woven stand

Til Past's Son takes Reaper's Daughter in hand."

Next to Harry, Trumari appeared to be having a small panic attack. He looked at her, concerned. Vorik stopped talking, shifted his weight, and then resumed, sounding more like his usual boring self.

"Since that time, the Yar-kur or Green Sea has come to be called the Voroth Sea, and the lands once ruled by the Poison House have become part of Raal Province, arguably the most popular tourist destination on Vulcan. The water table has risen, and the stream that flowed from the House fortress is now a strong tributary of the Na'ree River. Until I was seven, the people of the settlements and towns closest to the Poison House maintained it as a museum, and it was opened each year on Tribute Day. Children dressed as mourners or sacrificial victims. We would make the hike up the hills along the stream to the fortress carrying offerings of cheap jewelry, polished stones, and small denomination coins.

There we were required to dodge youths and adults dressed as Poison House members, avoid and escape booby traps, pick locks and scale walls, all in order to make our way to the House treasury, where we would leave our offerings. The original vast and precious treasures from the era of Poison House rule were still inside, as well as several hundred years worth of progressively valueless offerings. By the tradition of my village, any child that failed to make it to the treasury before midnight was forced to dress as a sacrificial victim the next year. I was never afforded the opportunity to dress as either mourner, or House member until today."

This merited several chuckles from the audience. "In my seventh year, the tradition was abruptly halted and until I conducted my historical research for this presentation, I never learned why." Vorik paused again, thumb poised on his control for the viewscreen, looking down at Trumari with what might have been consternation, if he hadn't been a Vulcan, in a ridiculous mask. Trumari had her head between her knees and she was emitting a high-pitched continuous giggle.

"You okay?" Harry asked her. "I'm fine," she gasped. Vorik looked vaguely suspicious. Finally he apparently decided to ignore Trumari, who was getting funny looks from several other people in the audience, and continued. "That year the initial adult work crew arrived at the museum to find the main gate barred and locked. The volunteer museum staff and the police were called in to investigate the manner. Inside they found that the entire House had been emptied from attics to the cellars. Even the few bodies left where they had originally fallen in areas of the House not open to the public had been moved beneath the cellars and the catacombs sealed. The House treasury had been looted down to the smallest glass bead, and the floor of the Great Hall defaced with an additional message in the same Ancient Jarok Vuhlkansu as the writing on the walls."

Vorik clicked his control. An image of the graffiti appeared on the viewscreen. Slightly less elegant script scrawled across the floor in luminescent green paint at the foot of the throne. "The message as translated reads simply, 'We're back'." Vorik stopped talking abruptly and put his hands behind his back, then nodded his head. Evidently, he was done this time. Harry clapped again. Tom was staring at Trumari suspiciously from her other side as she choked and giggled in her seat. The audience applauded Vorik's presentation generously. _It was surprisingly good. But seriously though, what is up with Trumari?_

Tom raised a hand. Vorik blinked. "You have a question Mr. Paris?" B'Elanna on Tom's other side was poking him and hissing at him to shut up and not spoil Vorik's moment.

"So this ghost story of yours is actual history?"

"That's correct."

"Did they ever figure out what happened to the half of the poison people that didn't kill each other off?"

"There are three primary theories. One is that the Lunikk Kelek clan joined the Romulan migration, leaving half their clan members behind to commit suicide, which the message left on the walls would seem to support. Another is that the entire clan was wiped out, but not all of the bodies were found. The third is that a schism occurred within the House, possibly between factions wishing to remain and attempt to maintain their hold on the people of the valley, or wishing to join the Sundered and leave, or even to abandon the House and valley, adopt the philosophy of Surak and live anonymously elsewhere, and that the survivors of the battle each took what route they preferred. The graffiti left when I was young could be interpreted as evidence to support either the first or last theory, that the descendants of the House returned to claim their property. It is of course, more likely, that thieves stole the artifacts and the funds in the treasury and left the message to discourage investigation of the theft."

Tom whistled. "They never figured out who took everything?"

Vorik shrugged. "The results of the investigation were classified, and the House itself has been transferred out of public holding to private ownership. Most of the year it appears to be unoccupied, but lights can be seen on certain ancient holy days, such as Rumarie."

"Very good, Mr. Vorik!" Neelix enthused. "You are definitely in the running for our prizes for the best presentations." Vorik's sardonic eyebrow was clearly visible over his mask.

"Thank you, Neelix." He intoned.

"All, right, next up we have Ensign Trumari, who'll be sharing with us about the Romulan version of Rumarie, and the very special day that comes after all the fun!"

Trumari pulled herself together and up out of her seat. She eschewed the stage, opting to stand at the head of the center aisle. "On Romulan worlds, Rumarie is a harvest festival. Rumar is a trickster god, as well as a harvest god, so on this day we do, as Neelix said, have quite a bit a fun. We eat, play and cheat at games, drink rather more than we should, gamble, play pranks and commit petty thievery against our friends and family with complete impunity. During the daylight hours at least, it strongly resembles the atmosphere of a county fair I visited on Earth while I was at the Academy."

"I'm pretty sure you won't get your pocket picked at a fair on Earth," B'Elanna heckled. Trumari faltered, losing her rythymn.

"And I'm pretty sure I have had," Tom countered, "Go on, Tru," he encouraged.

Trumari inhaled deeply. "As night falls, the festival changes. The people move indoors, gathering together in venues designed for feasting and other kinds of entertainment. The children eat, and are ushered off to sleep communally in large groups of friends. Professional acrobats, singers, musicians, storytellers, and magicians entertain the adults until just before midnight. Tricks continue, but are more subdued. Lies and jokes are told, and secrets shared. During the time between when the children leave and midnight is considered an especially romantic time for couples, and many sneak away before the party is over." Tuvok raised a disapproving eyebrow at her, as if daring her to be more specific. She daren't be.

"Due to the gestation period of vulcanoids and the Romulan year matching so closely, it's not uncommon for children to be born on the same holiday they were conceived on." The drew the hoped for laughter. "In fact, you may have noticed the similarity between my name, and the festival of Rumarie. It's definitely _not_ a coincidence." She grinned, then sighed.

"At midnight though, the fun is definitely over. The holy day that follows the festival is a solemn one. Beginning at midnight and lasting until the next sundown, the entirety of the day is dedicated to the darker aspect of Rumar, who as the god of harvest, is also the Reaper of Souls. During this time, observers fast and abstain from all pleasures. They speak to living persons only as a matter of nessecity, and dedicate their voices to prayer, and speaking to the dead. It's a time of mourning and remembering those we've lost. Those who can travel to where their dead are buried." She smiled sadly. "Some people say that on Rumarie we make memories, and on E'Rumar, we use them." She saluted her audience, farewelled them with a "Jolan'tru" and sat down, shaking.

Tom looked at her, askance. "You want to tell me what that freak out was all about?"

"Later," she whispered back.

Later came all too soon. Trumari was trying to drown herself with the disturbingly green colored sugary punch. Up on the stage, Vorik was receiving his prize for "scariest true story and best special effects."

"Okay, Tru. Spill." Trumari raised an eyebrow at him, and then looked down at her glass.

"Oh, don't give the Vulcan taking everything literally thing. We both know you're more fluent in Standard than that guy," Tom gestured up at the stage, where Vorik was holding a large, whole raw pumpkin, and gazing at it in total bewilderment. Trumari giggled.

She sighed. "Okay, fine. I don't suppose you've ever given a stray passing thought to what my maiden name is?"

"No, not really." Tom admitted.

"Well, give it some thought. Also remember what it is my family used to do?"

Tom looked a bit blank. She rolled her eyes. "Protecting the Empress from assassination by poison?"

"Oh, right, that's why you're such a good cook."

"Right. Well, if you were a ruler of a treacherous, warlike, vicious, absolutely ruthless empire, who would you want to protect you from poison wielding assassins?"

B'Elanna peeled her eyes off of Vorik, who was meandering off the stage, looking a bit helpless with his unwieldy vegetable. "A poison wielding assassin, obviously. Not that one could trust such a person."

Trumari shrugged. "Well, if you happened to kidnap the entire clan's children and blackmailed them into doing it?"

"Still wouldn't trust them." The half-Klingon insisted.

Trumari rolled her eyes. "And the children weren't given back to their parents until they'd been thoroughly brainwashed into wanted to stay and serve the Empress, then you killed off the parents bit by bit and kept the kids?"

B'Elanna nodded. "That'd work."

"So, what, the story just reminded you of your childhood, or..?" Tom asked her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Trumari saw Vorik stalking up on them, gaze fixed on B'Elanna.

"Not exactly."

"Hey Vorik," B'Elanna said, "You did good."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I did as you suggested and 'went for it.'" Vorik looked extremely pleased with himself.

"It was pretty epic," Tom agreed.

"I do not believe the tale meets the literary definition of an epic." Trumari rolled her eyes. Obviously Vorik only had ears for B'Elanna's compliments.

"Well, no, not _literally_. Trumari didn't seem to like it much."

Vorik's abruptly flat face and voice clearly signaled his actual intense irritation, to anyone who knew how to read a Vulcan. "It is fortunate then that my presentation was not intended for her enjoyment."

 _Well, snarky snark snark._ "Let's just say I've heard it before. I'd never heard the wording of the curse though, that was something of a revelation." That was an understatement. She wanted to go back to her quarters and throw up. Reaper's daughter left bereft indeed! She really needed something stronger than sucrose right now, but that was a path she didn't want to walk down again.

"Lieutenant, what does one do with such a fruit?" Vorik asked B'Elanna.

"Don't ask me. Ask Tom. It's a human thing."

"Very well. What is the purpose of this fruit, Paris?"

"Pumpkins are normally considered a vegetable, Vorik." Tom teased.

Vorik examined the roughly spherical, orange, object. "Botany is not my specialty, but this does appear to be a fruit. An examination of the inside would be more definitive."

"Well, you could carve it, like the jack-o-lanterns here. That'd give you a chance to 'examine' it." Tom said good-naturedly.

"As Voyager already has a surplus of carved produce, that would be pointless." Vorik answered.

"Well, there's cooking it." Tom suggested.

"Cooking? This fruit is edible?" Vorik looked dubious. "The odor would seem to suggest otherwise."

"Odor?" Tom looked at Trumari. "They don't smell bad to me."

"They do indeed stink when raw." She answered. "However, cooking renders them far more pleasant. They are used extensively in human cuisine to produce pies, sweet breads, other desserts and soups."

"Soup?" Vorik sounded intrigued. "I will ask Neelix to assist me."

Tom laughed. "Trumari's a safer bet. Neelix already told me he's planning on turning those jack-o-lanterns into casserole and pickling the rest."

"Why would Trumari be of any assistance?" Vorik inquired.

"Since am I present," Trumari said frostily, "it would be more efficient to inquire of me directly."

"Since I do not intend to request your assistance, I addressed the inquiry elsewhere."

Neelix walked past. "Ensign, did you have any special request for the kitchen? You can certainly keep the pumpkin until it spoils if you like, but waste not, want not, you know."

"Indeed." Vorik agreed. "Pumpkin soup."

"Soup?" Neelix made a face. "Suit yourself. I've already got a request each for pumpkin bread and pumpkin pie. Will you help me, Trumari?"

"Of course." She was suddenly possessed by Rumar, surely she had to have been.

"Oh, and Tom, before I forget to tell you, my maiden name was Lunikelek."

Vorik dropped his pumpkin.

* * *

A/N: Yup, that's right, Trumari the Romulan is descended from the delightful "Poison House." I decided to leave off there for this version of the one-shot. This is probably not up to my usual editing standard, but I've been working pretty hard to get it done and still put in the requisite hours of homework on top of my job, and I wanted you to have it for Halloween. I'll come back and polish it some more later. In the meantime, if you spot any errors, go ahead and let me know. For anyone reading Jolan'tru, this information is all part of my headcanon for that story, as well as what I researched about the character's Vorik's family on Memory Beta. It will be referenced in future chapters there.

Lunikk Kelek


End file.
